The Beauty of a Story
by hermionegrangerxx
Summary: This story is quite difficult to describe? Well, it is set in two girls' points of vews ands they have different thought and feelings but are very similar in the interests - they meet in very unlikely circumstances. Happy reading fanfictioners! :D x
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One: Ivy

'Once upon a time…can happen any time' that was what it said in the book I was reading last night– I was trying to finish it. Eventually, I did; at 2.30am.

I was still lying in bed when my alarm clock went off and my favourite song was on 'Starry Eyed' by Ellie Goulding. A mother had decided to put it on for her daughters 13th birthday. My ears turned into hawks, wondering whether it would be _my_Mum. No.

I carried on listening wondering whether there would be any other dedications and that was proved wrong too.

I suppose many people would find me rather weird if I told them about me setting an alarm in the Christmas holidays, on Christmas Eve, which is your birthday.

Many people would have also thought I was weird because I hate my birthday. Aside from the fact that it is the night before Christmas day it is because I have no blood related family. But I am fostered, by a retired lady called Marion– I will explain more about her later in the story… My Story.

I never slept properly once I finished my book, I would be kidding myself if I told you that I was imagining another plot to the book I was reading 'A Cinderella Story'.

MY STORY

These are some of the things you need to know about me:

Name: Ivy Johnson

Parents: I have no idea; although I was fostered by Marion Bean.

Place of Birth: Dustbin.

Friends: Beth and Aimee

Enemies: None that I know of

Birthday: 24th December 1998 – TODAY!

I was not your average teenager and this is my story!

If I could ask one question and get a true answer it would be 'Do happy endings come true?'

If I could ask another question it would be 'Why did my Mum leave me?'

Beth and Aimee always get embarrassed when their Mums give them a big soppy kiss in front of the boys and then shout; "Love you!" all the way from the car park.

Secretly, I wished that I could have a Mum who did all that – at least it was better than no mum at all!

Aimee moaned last week because her parents wouldn't give her the money to buy this leather jacket she saw in New Look. I just thought to myself, 'I wish I could have your problems.'

I think when you have a loving family (who would give the world for you) you take it all for granted. I didn't really get to know my mum.

I could hear the clattering of bowls coming up the stairs, it was Marion; my foster mother. I tried my ultimate best to flatten my bed head hair before she walked in.

Marion's heart is definitely in the right place, it is mine that isn't. Marion likes everything to be in pristine condition and it has to be up to her – very – high standards. I have only just persuaded her to wear leggings and skinny jeans but whenever I mentioned jeggings her face went blank.

Marion was a retired history teacher, which was one of my favourite subjects. But now she has a part time job showing tourists around the local art and history museum/gallery. One of my favourite exhibitions is the outside gardens. They are unique and some exhibitions were designed by the younger generation. Marion thought they were a waste of space and couldn't/wouldn't give them the time of day.

She knocked on the door and entered. This was the beginning of my thirteenth birthday. I hated my birthdays. I wouldn't tell anyone that though. Aimee and Beth would have thought I was seriously weird. I try so hard to fit in with them I found myself copying them.

They have all started sighing whenever I said sorry.

"It's kind of creepy," said Beth.

"You don't have to keep saying sorry to us. We're your friends," said Aimee.

They were my friends and I badly wanted them to stay my friends. They're the nicest friends I've ever had. They thought I was nice and normal too, give or take a few slightly strange ways. I'm going to do my best to keep it like that. I was never going to tell them about me. I would have died if they found out.

I had got so good at pretending I hardly knew I was doing it. I was like an actress. I've had to play lots of parts. Sometimes I was not sure whether there was any real me left. No, the real me is this me: shy little Ivy showers, thirteen years old. Today.

I don't know how I'm going to handle it. It's the one day when it's hard to pretend.

Marion asked last week if I wanted to do anything special. I just shook my head, but so emphatically that my face was hidden by my hair.

Aimee has a sleepover for her thirteenth birthday. We watched a spooky movie (which was rated 15) and a comedy which gave us the most terrible giggles.

Beth had a proper party, a disco in a church hall decked out with fairy lights and candles to try and give it some atmosphere. There were boys too but only Beth's brother and his friends and a few totally sad guys in our year. Still, it was great.

I loved all my friends' birthdays. It's mine that is the problem. I just want to get it all over and done with.

"Are you sure you don't want a party?" Marion asked for the several time that week.

I could just imagine the type of party Marion would have organised: charades, pin the tail on the donkey, sausages on sticks and fruit punch, like way back when she was young.

_Maybe that's not fair._ I'm sick of being fair. I'm sick of her. _That's so mean_. She's trying so hard.

"Perhaps you and I could go out for a meal somewhere?" she suggested, like it would be a big treat.

"No honestly, I don't want to make a big fuss of my birthday," I said yawning as if the whole subject simply bored me.

Marion was no fool. "I know birthdays must be difficult for you," she said softly like a social worker would.

"No, its okay, I'm okay," I insisted. "I just don't want to make a big fuss about it."

She swallowed. Then she looked at me sideways. "I take it presents aren't making too much of a fuss?" she said. "I like the sound of presents," I said, snapping out of my sulks.

I looked at her hopefully. I'd hinted enough times. Surely Marion had interpreted the gift that I had been longing for."What are you giving me?"

"You have to wait and see," whispered Marion.

"Give me a clue, please!" I begged.

"Absolutely not," replied Marion firmly holding her head in the sky.

"Is it…?" I gestured, holding one hand to my ear.

"You'll have to wait and see," said Marion, but she smiled broadly.

I'm sure I've guessed right. Even though, she's moaned and groaned about them enough.

Marion woke me up with a birthday breakfast in bed. I don't actually ever want to bother with breakfast, but I sat up and tried to look enthusiastic.

Marion poured far too much milk on my cornflakes but she's added strawberries too, and she's put a bunch of baby irises in a champagne flute which matched the willow patterned china. There was a present on the tray, a neat rectangle, just the right size.

"Oh Marion!" I said, Marion leant forward and was going to hug until… I dodged quickly abandoning her eagerness.

Milk splashed all over the sheets as the tray tilted.

"Careful Ivy!" Marion snapped, and snatched the present to safety.

"Hey it's mine!" I said, and took the perfect present away from her.

It felt a little light. Maybe, it was one of those really neat ones. I undid the ribbon and ripped off the paper. Marionautomatically smoothed the wrapping paper and winded the ribbon around her finger it was like she was a robot and was programmed to do these sort of things. I took the lid off the cardboard box, only to have found another cardboard box; too small, surely.

"Go on, open the next box," said Marion.

"Is this a joke," I questioned.

"I didn't want you to guess too easily! It is the next one, Ivy, open it." Marion urged. "After all, I think you know," she chuckled to herself.

So I opened it. It was the last box. There was a present inside. But it was the wrong present.

"It's earrings." I said in a rather blunt voice.

"Do you like them? I asked the young lady in the shop; what would be a brilliant birthday present and she suggested those moonstone earrings, they are emerald moonstone earrings. I thought they would bring out the green in your eyes." Marion babbled. Well, she thought wrong!

I barely heard her, I felt so disappointed. I was sure she was giving me a mobile. It was like hitting straight into a brick wall when I realised: she smiled when I gestured…then I realized. She thought I was pointing to my newly pierced ears.

The fancy earrings are a peace offering. She made such a fuss when Aimee and Beth egged me on one Saturday and had my ears pierced one Saturday in Claire's Accessories. You would have thought I'd have had my tongue pierced the way she carried on.

"What's the matter?" Marion asked. "Do you like the moonstones?"

"Yes. They're lovely. It's just…" I lied through my teeth and I was not a liar. "I thought I was getting a mobile phone."

Marion looked at me, not blinking. It was so silent you could have heard a pin drop. Then, Marion broke the silence. "Oh Ivy, you know what I think about mobiles," she sighed.

I knew alright. She had gone on and on about all of these stupid brain tumour scares and the whole big bore nuisance. As if I care! I just want my own mobile like every other girl my age. Beth got a mobile for her thirteenth birthday and so did Aimee. Most girls get a mobile for their thirteenth birthday, if not before.

I felt like I was the only one anywhere without any means of communication. I couldn't natter or send funny text messages or take calls from my friends. I couldn't join in. I was the odd one out.

I always was.

"I wanted a mobile!" I wailed likea baby.

"Oh for God's sake, Ivy," moaned Marion. "You know perfectly well what I think about mobiles. I _hate _them!"

"I don't!"

"They're an absolutely outrageous invention – those ridiculous little tunes twinkling everywhere and an idiot announcing 'Hello I'm on the train' as if anyone cares!"

"I care. I want to keep in touch with my friends."

"Don't be silly. You see them every day."

"Beth is always sending texts to Aimee and she sends them back and they're always laughing away together and I'm always left out – because I haven't got a mobile. Do you know how that feels?"

"Well, that's tough Ivy," she lectured. "You'll just have to learn to live with it. I've told you and told you –"

"Oh yeah you've told me all right." I interrupted.

"Please don't talk to me in that silly little tone, it's incredibly irritating."

"I can't help it if you think I'm irritating. I don't see why that is so terrible to want a mobile phone when it's what every single teenager in the entire world owns."

"Don't be so ridiculous."

"Why is it so ridiculous? I want to be like my friends. Aimee and Beth have both got mobiles. Why can't I have a mobile?"

"I've just told you why."

Yes, well, I'm sick of you telling me this and telling me that. Who are you to tell me all this stuff? It's not like you're my mother."

"Look I try –"

"But I don't want you to!"

My mouth said it all on its own accord. There's suddenly a silence in the room.

I didn't mean it.

Yes I did.

Marion sat down heavily on the end of my bed. I looked at my green moonstone earrings.

I could say I'm sorry. I could say sweet things to her. I could eat up my cornflakes. I could screw my earrings into my ears and give Marion a big hug and kiss and tell her I just love the moonstone earrings.

Only I wished they were a mobile phone. I don't see why that was so wicked. I mean honestly, a mobile! Doesn't she want me to keep in touch with my friends?

Maybe she wanted me all to herself. Well, I didn't want her.

I got up, I left my breakfast tray, and I went into the bathroom, locking the door on Marion, I wanted to shut her out of my life.

I didn't want to wear her silly little moonstone earrings. I was into fancy earrings months ago, when I kept nagging to have to my ears pierced. Can't she keep track of things? I am so sick of her and the way she never manages to get things right.

I got washed and dressed. Marion went downstairs (I heard the staircase creak). I wished that I could sidle out of the house without having to face her. I don't see why she always has to make me feel guilty. It was not my fault. I didn't ask her to take care of me.

I was not going to wear those earrings. I didn't want those twinkly little girly earrings clogging up my ear lobes. I was sick of thinking about _her_and _her_ feelings.

She bent down by the front door picking up the post. My heart leapt. There were three birthday cards – but not the one I was looking for. Thought it was silly, she didn't even know my address. Maybe she didn't even know my name. How could she ever get in touch?

Marion was watching me; her face was all creased up with sympathy. This made me feel worse.

"Ivy, I know it's hard for you. I do understand."

"No you don't. You can't possibly seem to understand what it is like growing up in care. I wouldn't put a dog in care!"

She pressed her lips together until they disappeared. Then she breathed heavily through her nose like a horse.

"I know this is a difficult day for you, but it is no excuse to shout at me. You're acting like a sulky little brat. You haven't even thanked me properly for the earrings."

"Thank you!" It came out more rudely than I intended. I felt tears of shame prickling my eyes. I didn't want to hurt her.

_Yes I do._

"I'm sick of having to say please and thank you and having to act all prissy and posh. I don't want to be like you. I just want to be me," I said as I barged past her and through the door, off to meet Aimee and Beth – shopping. I didn't even say goodbye.

I didn't want to think about Marion anymore because the whole situation made me feel so bad. I walled her right at the back of my mind. They were a lot of people squashed up there in the dark.

I thought about me. I didn't know how to be me when I was myself. There was only one person who could tell me and she had me no way of getting in touch.

I went into the newsagents (on the corner of the road). Peter looked away from his newspaper, smiled and then returned to the headlines.

"Hi Ivy," Peter muttered, he still didn't look up from the Manchester United football controversy section from yesterday.

I walked past the chocolate – and felt the temptation. I looked at the newspapers in the neat black and white row. The Time's is the one which had the personal column. We used to divide it up between us, me and Beth and Aimee, and we had to analyse each section.

I couldn't really search through the whole paper looking for it. Peter had pinned little messages around the magazine section, up on the shelves.

I am not a lending library. No looking without purchasing.

So I purchased. Peter pulled a funny face and laughed.

"Are you getting all serious and intellectual, Ivy?"

"That's right," I said.

I gave Peter the money for the newspaper. He peered at the coins and gave me my change,

There was no message either – I wasted £1.00! I leant against the wall, where all the graffiti was. My teeth were chattering, after all it was December and Christmas Eve; Christmas fever in the air. I was actually surprised the newsagents was open for business.

Some of the messages in the personal column would be cryptic jokes. They made no sense to me whatsoever. But there was nothing from _her. _No '_Happy Birthday – I always think of you on Christmas Eve,' _did she think of me at this festive time of the year? I always thought of her, 365 days a year, 24 hours a day. I didn't know what she was like, of course. But I could imagine.

Whenever, we had history and we had to imagine what it would feel like to be a Roman Centurion or a Tudor Queen or a London child in the Blitz. I could have always pretended I was there and I wrote it all down and Miss Stanten gave me excellent marks. Even though, I was imagining so hard I forgot about the real world.

But it was alright at that school. Everything was fine. I had catched up – I was in all of the top sets; it wasn't like some of the other schools I had attended where they thought I was really thick or they knew all about me and the kids teased me and called me names.

Oh my days, I sound as if I should be playing a violin, _sooo_ sorry for poor little me.

I was not poor, though I was little. No-one knew about me at this school I was just Ivy and in Year 8 and I attended Oulder Hill Community and Language School. People only knew me because I was the girl with long hair who hung round with Beth and Aimee.

No-one thought I was odd, but I did get teased for being a bit of a cry-baby. I sniffled in class when we were told about homeless children who didn't have any parentsin refugee camps. I was still blubbering at break time. Beth had her arm around me and Aimee was mopping my eyes with a wad of tissues.

When a teacher walked past and got all fussed and asked if I was unwell. Aimee said, "It's just Ivy, she always crying, we all call her Ivy Showers."

That was my nickname, it was much better than SnowFairy, it was much, much, much better than Dustbin Baby.

That was the real me. I was in the newspapers. I suppose it was a special claim to fame. Not many people make the front page the day they were born. But then again, not many people get chucked out like rubbish. One look and it was 'No way, don't want this baby, let's chuck her in the dustbin!'

Funny kind of cradle. A pizza box for a pillow, newspaper as a duvet, and scrunched up tissues served as a mattress.

What kind of mother would dump her own baby in a dustbin?

No, I'm not being fair. I didn't think it was just that she probably couldn't stand the sight of me, she was probably scared silly. Maybe no-one else knew about the baby and she didn't dare tell anyone.

She didn't cuddle me close. She opened the dustbin with one hand and dropped me in with the other.

Then the lid went down.

I had lost her forever.

So there I was, in a dustbin in the dark.

What did I do?

Cry of course, I was Ivy Showers.

I had a mouth like a polo mint and lungs like the size of tea spoons, but I did my best. I wailed and shrieked and yelled, my face was screwed up, my knees against my chest my fists were flailing.

But the lid was on top. My little bleats were muffled. Who would be listening anyway? She was gone. Non-one ever came down that alley anymore.

I didn't give up. I cried and cried until I looked like araspberry, the veins stood out on my forehead my wisp of hair was damp with effort. I was damp with effort, because I had no nappy. I had no clothes at all and if I stopped crying I would have become dangerously cold.

I cried even though, in the back of my head, I knew she was not coming back. Why would she? I cried until my throat hurt. I cried though my eyes were shut and I was getting so tired that all I wanted to do was to give up and sleep. But I was not going to. I cried…

And then someone tugged at the lid.

"Kitty are you trapped inside? Hang on, I'll get you out."

Sudden light. Pink blur. A face. Not her, a man. No, it was a boy. Frankie he worked the evening shift at the Pizza Place to help out while he's at college, though of course I didn't know that yet. He was just someone who had come to my rescue as I wailed desperately for help. My hero!

"A baby!" He backed away warily as if I was dangerous; his mouth was hanging wide open. He dropped the rubbish he had heaved from the kitchens. He shaked his head as if he couldn't believe what he had just witnessed. Then, he touched me with one finger tip, checking whether I was real.

"You poor little thing!" His hands went right round, rather clumsily, but very gentle. He lifted me up and carried me. I waited for him to drop me back in the dustbin. But he tenderly tucked me down his t-shirt, in the warmth, even though I was damp and dirty.

"There now," he said, cradling me, then he hurried back up the alley into the kitchens, he looked as if he suddenly grown a beer belly.

"What have you got here, Frankie?" asked one of the regulars – Alice. She was old enough to be Frankie's mum but they were justfriends.

"A baby," he said, really quietly so he didn't startle me, even though here were clattering and crashes which came from all corners of the restaurant.

"Oh sure," she said. "What is it? Did someone chuck a doll in the dustbins?"

"Look," said Frankie, he leant forward so she could she down his shirt.

I murmured as he shifted. I tried to clutch on to his skin with my fists.

"Oh my Lord!" Alice shrieked, so loud that everyone came running.

There was babble all around me and there were fingers poking at me – checking whether I was real.

"Don't! You're frightening her. I think she's hungry." said Frankie. "Look at her little mouth. It's like she's looking for something."

"Something you haven't got Frankie!"

"What about some milk?" said Frankie. "We could heat her up some milk!"

"She's too little. New born. We'd better call an ambulance," said Alice. "And the police."

"Police?"

"Well, someone's dumped her, haven't they? Here, Frankie, let me take her."

"No. I want to hold her. I found her. She likes me – look."

I did like Frankie. If I couldn't have a mum he could definitely do for a dad. I started shrieking wildly when the ambulance crew took me out of his shirt. I wanted his warmth, his skin, and his care.

"See, she does like me," Frankie said proudly as if he was my father. He tucked me back inside his shirt and came in the ambulance with me.

He stayed at the hospital whilst the paediatrician checked me all over and waited while a nurse bathed me and then wrapped me up.

"Hey, Frankie, you can give the baby her first feed," the nurse said.

She sat him down and put me back in Frankie's arms. I liked it better inside his shirt against his skin but this way still felt good though. I couldn't snuggle properly in my new stiff sleeping suit. Frankie touched my mouth with the rubber teat of my feeding bottle. I fastened on to it as once.

I didn't need showing how to suck. I knew straight away. Once I started I couldn't stop. Everything blurred. I forgot my mum. I forgot the hospital nurses and doctors. I even forgot Frankie. It was just the bottle and me; I wanted to suck forever. And then I slept… and when I woke Frankie wasn't there.

I cried. He didn't come back. Nurses came and went.

Maybe, I thought, this is the way it was. No-one ever stays. But the magic bottle appeared regularly so I concentrated on that.

Then, suddenly some familiar hands scooped me out of my cot and I was back down a shirt, my cheek was against skin– Frankie's skin. This was for the newspapers. I think I even made it on to the television too. Hopefully, my mum saw it.

Did she keep the photos when they were published the next day in the newspapers? Did she snip out the features?

**Dustbin Baby**

College student Frankie Hart, 17, found a surprise waiting for him when he did his evening shift at The Pizza Place in the High Street yesterday. He heard a high pitched wailing coming from the bins at the back of the popular restaurant.

"I thought it was a cat," said Frankie. "I got the shock of my life when I took the dustbin lid off and saw the baby." Frankie has two younger brothers of his own and has done his fair share of babysitting – so he had no qualms about looking after the baby, keeping her warm by tucking the tiny infant inside his shirt.

Frankie accompanied her to Fairfield hospital, where doctors examined the baby and said she was in perfect health in spite of her ordeal in the dustbin. They believe she was only minutes old when she was abandoned.

Her mother will be in need of medical attention. She is urged to contact Fairfield Hospital as soon as possible, where she can be reunited with her daughter.

The baby was naked, not even wearing a nappy, and so far no clues to her identity. There was a ruby necklace which was found with the baby.

She is pale white, with light brown hair and weighs a healthy 6lbs. Nurses at the hospital say she is adorable. She's been named Ivy because she was found on December 24th.

"I certainly thought someone was playing a practical joke on me," beamed Frankie, cuddling little baby Ivy in his arms. "If her mum doesn't want her I wish I could look after her!"

I wished it too, Frankie.

I wish you were still seventeen. But wishes don't come true – I have learnt that all too well. I wonder how we would have got on. I was still little, the smallest girl in every class I was ever in, and that took some serious counting.

I was skinny too, though Marion had been trying desperately to fatten me up. She was particularly keen on milk: on my cornflakes, mushed up with muesli, whipped into Angel Delight, baked into rice pudding, stirred into cocoa, shaken with ice-cream. She was so inventive and it seemed so mean to screw my face up and shudder, but I hated milk now, even though I used to suck the stopper off my baby bottles. So, I am seriously small, Frankie, but you could hardly tuck me inside your shirt now.

I wonder what it would feel like. I wonder if you've got a hairy chest now and a real beer belly. You're 31. You have probably got your own children.

You looked lovely in the photo in the paper. I have looked at it so many times it is a wonder there is any image left. I had peered at it so closely that your face and mine blurred into thousands of little dots on the yellowing page. You can only see my head. The rest of me was inside your shirt.

My eyes were open and I was looking at you. I was a little squinty from all the flash bulbs but I was looking up and you were looking down at me. You had this lovely smile. Maybe the photographers told you to look that way so it would make a great picture. Maybe you really felt it. Though if that was really the case, why didn't you keep in touch? Maybe you really tried to see me. Maybe you weren't joking when you wished you could look after me.

They don't let seventeen year old boys look after baby girls. It was weird. If my mother had gone rushing to the hospital begging to be reunited with me, they would have probably have let her look after me. Even though she through me in the dustbin and shut the lid on me. But that's because we were related. Blood was thicker than water. She was the only blood related person that I knew about and yet of course I knew nothing about her.

I couldn't stop thinking about her. Well, not all of the time. I was happy then. I had got a new life. Lots of people liked me. I had a home. I loved my new school and my best friends Beth and Aimee.

That morning, I wondered what they were giving me for my birthday. Beth gave me a book. It wasn't a kid's one. Probably a sad detailed romance with a dark imaginative cover. She might have had to read it first. But I wouldn't have minded. We would go into a coffee shop and discuss snippets in depth.

Aimee gave me pens and pencils from Paperchase – which I loved!

I received a notebook that same week for my birthday, an Italian notebook to be precise. It was left in the children social work office – head-quarters- in Manchester and the package was addressed to me.

Lunch will be especially good too. At school, we all took pack lunches and mine was especially boring. (Marion went for the wholemeal bread with cheese, carrots, yoghurt, banana and sultanas – I was a very special kind of monkey). But, since we weren't at school we would go to Nice Ice – which sold milkshakes and ice cream.

However, when we were at school and it was one of our birthdays, me, Beth and Aimee had this tradition of nipping out to the bakery and buying big cream doughnuts.

My mouth watered just thinking about the milkshakes and doughnuts as I walked to the shops. I never did eat my birthday breakfast. I wanted to see Beth and Aimee. I wanted my birthday to be fun like everybody else's birthday. But I'm not like anyone else. I'm me.

I walked on, past the school, past the shops, past Nice Ice. I hurried in case anyone recognised me. I can't go shopping. I can't go home. I have to go back. Back to where my story began.


	2. Chapter 2

**Dedications… annabethanyx who is my best friend and has supported me through the making of chapter two and given me some awesome ideas – you may recognise snippets.**

**Chapter Two: Isabella (oops Bella)**

I woke up, not to the sound of the awful screech of an alarm clock but to the sound of my parents arguing. I just closed my eyes and hoped I could just drift back to a long peaceful sleep.

When the room had suddenly turned quiet, I slowly opened my eyes and sadly flickered back to reality.

"Happy Birthday Bella," chorused Mum and Dad.

I could see all the large big beautifully and delicately wrapped presents.

"Are those for me?" I asked so quietly my mum asked for me to repeat. I know it is a pointless and dumb question and I did fell like going duh (!) to myself but I would have felt rude if I just went other and ripped all the presents open like an out-of-control maniac.

As I was about to get up, Suzy wondered in and asked:

"Chef just wanted me to check whether you were all awake and check what you wanted for your breakfast."

"Since I am not playing over Christmas I'll have a full English breakfast and extra bacon!" Dad said, you would have thought he was 20 stone but he is really fit, well I suppose you have to be if you play for Manchester United for a job and have over 80 caps for England.

Mum said she wanted her usual – which was cereal with no milk – 'hamster food'. But, Dad disagreed with what she said which I found unusual!

I suppose I was lucky because a lot of the kids normally have their birthdays on a school day and still have to do their boring subjects. Even though, I am in set one and I get good marks in Maths doesn't necessarily mean that I _love _Maths.

I have always wondered what it would be like to have a birthday whilst facing boring subjects. Liliana's birthday is the 21st September so her birthday is a school day most of the time a boring day.

At our school it is different, it is private and _exclusive _that was what my Mum said, I moved when I was seven. Apparently, Mum said she didn't like the Mums she lied; she moved me because I was being bullied, like that was going to change.

~Flashback~

~20th February, age 7~

I would never forgive Mum. Never! Why did I have to be bullied and she thought I needed a change of scenery? She promised me that everything would be fine and I would make loads of friends and I will have a real confidence boost. She lied. As soon as I stepped out of that car kids were laughing and pointing their fingers at me. My life had suddenly turned upside down. How would this give me a confidence boost?

"Have a nice day, bye sweetie-pie!"

I felt my face burn as it suddenly turned a bright scarlet colour.

The kids all stared and laughed and pointed at me. It was all Mum's fault, why did she have to embarrass me like that?

I took two slow steady steps forward. Reality shock – I didn't die of shock yet! Lots of emphasis on the yet though.

"What are you, some little goodie-two-shoes monkey? Who is always with her notebook behind her Mummy and Daddy?"

They were vivid readers of OK! Me and my family were featured in a Christmas special and I was very shy and kept my notebook in my hand at all times!

I was shaking with fury. Yeah, my personality was different, but I wasn't that different, no different to anyone one of them. They were all daughters or sons or relatives of the 21st century.

Luckily, I knew where the reception was by following the numerous amount of signs. At least, I wouldn't be wondering around the corridors around the school like a lost servant. And I didn't dare ask anyone for directions.

Somehow, I made my way across the hallway – everyone's eye seemed to be glued to my face and clothes – and into the reception. The receptionist smiled at me welcomingly at least somebody was nice, I thought to myself. I smiled back but I struggled to keep my head above the desk.

"Hello," I said rather timidly. "Er… I'm new, where do I go?"

"You come here and I give you your planner and timetable and all your information!"

"Okay."

"I need to ask you a question, what languages would you like to study?"

She gave me an A4 piece of paper which was full of languages of the world – I had to choose at least three languages. There were so many to choose from and some were very interesting I chose: Italian, Chinese and Greek. I got my ball point pen and put a tick against their names and handed it back to Mrs Harrington. I had to peer at her badge and squint a little bit in order to see her picture. She ended up seeing my attempt to learn her name and said, "I'm Miss Harrington dear," she chirped.

She tapped in a few words on her swanky large Apple computer and sent it for print. My name was in calligraphy and was in full: Isabella Rozalia Johnson.

How posh!

It was neatly designed and put in two column Week A and Week B had all my subjects labelled and the room numbers which sounded like gobelldy gook. I didn't say anything just thank you and made my way to form. My home tutor (aka form tutor) was Mr Bates, who apparently only joined in September and was only 23.

I knew I was intelligent but F2 which was my form room made no sense what so ever!

The loud bellowing bell rung and everyone heaved into the corridors which seemed quite big but if you were claustrophobic this would be your worst nightmare. They were all shoving and pushing each other and swearing at one another.

I was about to ask a student who looked like the friendly type, but that turned out to be the opposite when she started screaming inappropriate language at some small kid. She then turned round and said

_Not so friendly I thought._

I decided to make my way through the wrestling match back to the receptionist and ask where the hell was F2. As we made our way to the class room she explained how the rooms are numbers. When she first told me, it seemed like a genius way of helping students. At first she sighed and said 'Well we had better get a move on.'

She came out of her neat and tidy little office and started to head down the corridor – which was as silent as a church on Sunday – and up a narrow stair case. Then she turned left around a corner and knocked on the second blue door and knocked. This door was labelled F2… Mr Bates.

She nodded and tried to urge me in, but my legs didn't move I was as white as a sheet. And suddenly the room was spinning.

It was at that moment I fell to the ground and there was a lot of mumbling and screams of 'She's dead! The new girl is dead!'

Minutes later, my eyes flickered open and I was forced to drink water and sit on a chair. I said I was feeling better so they let me find a place to sit.

I love sitting at the back because it is like you are invisible and the teachers never seem to notice you!

I took a long deep breath, I was surprised I wasn't as red as a tomato instead apparently I was so white I looked as though I just saw the grim reaper. I don't think there is anything worse than being late on your first day.

"She got lost," Miss Harrington flustered and then quickly left.

I observed my surroundings: and it was most definitely a science classroom. High tables and tall chairs were everywhere, there were science goggles and Bunsen burners and splits and some tables were a bit brown – obviously they were some minor 'explosions' – the classroom was very neat and tidy, four chairs around each set of taps.

"Apparently by the looks of your report you are a very shy little girl, so come to the front and you can introduce your self!" Mr Bates said. He had a deep Birmingham-ish accent! Did he want me to feint? I was sooo embarrassed!

I hurried to the front of the classroom up towards his desk. The children had their mouths wide open, it was like they were dogs and I had a large juicy green tennis ball – they never looked away.

"Is it Isabella," he said peering at his Apple computer.

"Yep, but I like to be called Bella."

He grinned uncontrollably. "Well Bella, North High are happy to enrol you. I will be your form tutor for the rest of your time here and this will be your form room!"

I nodded, I didn't know what to say. I looked around at all the faces, I recognised most of them and I think they recognised me! No-one seemed to jump out at my face and I will think 'Wow! They are awesome, I want to be best friends with them!' But I obviously didn't properly look.

He urged me to take a seat, which I did – I didn't need to be told twice. I headed straight to the back it was only then I realised there was someone sitting there.

I smiled a little and she did exactly the same! I wondered over and I coughed a little (it is what I do when I get nervous) and readjusted my bag and hurried over and got a stool which made an awful screech.

Of course, everyone knew who they were friends with. They had months to form friendship groups. I knew I was posing a threat – they were all scared that I might nip their best friends and brain wash them.

They all looked glum and miserable at me, giving me the dreaded daggers.

I sat down and she looked at me as though I had just made her day. She had long matt black hair which was neatly tied up in a pony-tail. Her startling deep black were glittering with happiness.

"Hi I'm Liliana Williams," she said.

"Hey I'm Bella Flochart, but you probably already know that,"

"I didn't really hear you at the back."

"I don't think the people at the front heard me!"

"Can I have a look at your timetable?"

"Um… okay." I handed her the sheet. She studied it, her eyes analysing every word.

"You have the same lessons as me. Do you want me to show you around?"

"Yeah sure," I smiled; at least I wouldn't be some lost loser all the time.

"We can be great friends!" she blurted out she then realised what she said and blushed a tomato red colour. It was February so more or less in the middle of the year, by that time everyone had formed friendship groups and they all sent me daggers; since, I was posing a threat to their friendship.

"It's okay. I'd love to be your friend." I assured her.

And that was the beginning of our friendship which blossomed from that day.

~End of flashback~

Suzy ran down the stairs and you could hear the loud clattering off the kitchen cutlery. I only realised it was mid-morning, when the morning sunlight filtered through my large bedroom windows and the sun casted a glitter over everything in its rays.

I threw back the floral quilts while a large yawn forced it way out of my mouth. I slid my legs out of my warm bed and slipped my feet into my fluffy white slippers that were waiting at the side of my floral but colourful bed.

I knelt down onto the floor – on the soft fluffy multi-coloured rug – and torn open my first present which was off my Aunty Angie and Uncle Steve…

To Bella,

Have an amazing birthday and an awesome Christmas and a prosperous New Year.

Lots of love

Aunty Angie, Uncle Steve and Rachel x

I unfolded the tissue paper only to find some 'I love New York' pyjamas, when I went into the white tiled bathroom and tried them on, they were a little too big, the sleeves travelled past my wrists and the pants reached my heels. They would be great for my birthday sleepover party which was happening on Boxing Day! I had _so _totally fallen in love with them from the first moment I saw them, they were _so _comfy as well.

There were several more unopened large rectangular square boxes also wrapped in (gorgeous) wrapping paper. I looked and as I did I bit my nails – Mum noticed-

"Bella, do not bite your nails you are having your nails painted today!" Mum said sternly.

As I am sure you already know I _hate _being embarrassed. I scurried around on my knees and picked up a large, puffy boxes which had _'Happy Birthday'_ in different colours and it was printed all over the wrapping paper; it had a little note which was badly sticky taped on. Mum held her head in her head in dismay and then looked at Dad.

I read the note and Mum was quick to point it she didn't wrap the present, Dad did. I said thanks and I rushed up and gave Mum and Dad a big hug. Dad almost throttled me to death and if he squeezed any tighter you could have easily thought he was a python.

I delicately ripped open the wrapping paper; surely I was the only kid who actually took their time ripping over their birthday presents. The reason why I took my time was because I wanted to create a collage full of different textures, patterns and colours – I know I am weird!

"It will be Christmas Eve next year by the time you have finished opening these presents," Dad joked.

I won't bore you about all the (lovely) presents I received because you might turn into an ugly green monster – joking! But it won't be much of a story if I don't tell you so I will describe….

I knelt over to open my present; the wrapping paper was smooth and shiny as it glistened in the suns rays. I decided to become a 'wild child' and rip it open ferociously only to find a snowy white dress – which was appropriate for that time of the year – and were light pink ballet shoes. Don't get me wrong, it was very pretty and delicate but when would I wear it?

It was like Mum had suddenly read my mind , "You will wear that dress tonight to the movie premier and on Christmas day!" Mum commanded but then realised how harshly her tone was in and smiled sweetly.

"Kk," I said that was one of my new favourite words. I didn't say it sarcastically, Lily never did. I copied it off Lily, I also copied awesome and cool off her but she didn't mind.

"Is Lily coming to the premier?" I wondered. Before they could answer, I grabbed my phone (Samsung Cht - check out the picture on my profile page) and instantly began texting her; it was like I was in a totally different world when I began texting.

_Are you coming to the premier tonight? x_

_Bella x_

Then, before I could tear open any other presents the doorbell rang. "I'll get it!" I announced and ran out of the room and sped down the steps and then swung open the large black door. I peered out of the large glass window all around the door. Only to my surprise, that Lily was standing there with a large parcel placed in her hands.  
"Come in!" I said vigorously.  
We hugged and ran up to my room, where Lily was greeted by my parents.  
"Lets open some more of the presents!" said Dad. One by one, we opened the presents, assisted by Lily. A notebook, a leather black pencil case with stitched stars on, it was filled with pencils of every colour in the rainbow, which was from Mum and Dad. Then next present was from Susan, my nanny, and was a Pandora bracelet with two charms on it. She knew I wanted this present because I was looking at it on the computer. Then, there was a large cardboard box, and when me and Lily finally managed to rip it open it was an apple laptop!  
George, my dad's assistant, entered the room. A look of hatred was plastered over my face, the minute he arrived. "Isabella." He cooed. I detested him, just by looking at his straight greasy hair made me want to throw up on his shiny black shoes.

So, Mum decided to give him a taste of his own medicine and blurted out, "My daughter's name is NOT Isabella, but Bella! And if you don't want to call me that, you can go to the job in the next hour with no references!"

But I think she underestimated him and he came back with his own response to the word fight, "I don't need this proxy job…" before he could finish off the sentence Mum put her hands over my ears and Suzy placed her hands over Lily's.

Although I could still hear the words and obviously I can't tell you for obvious reasons – me and Lily chuckled inside our heads.

He slammed the door and shouted more words and then you could faintly hear the front door being slammed and the swift but speedy exit of a car – Audi A3 to be precise!

Mum started to giggle showing her recently whitened teeth, then Dad, then Suzy, then me and Lily.

"Right, I will leave you and Lily to open the last few presents and then get changed, then go into the kitchen and gobble down your breakfast and then me and your dad have another surprise tucked up our sleeve."

"Another!" me and Lily said at exactly the same time.

Lily helped me decide what to wear and she showed me the clothes she was going to wear on Boxing Day at my party. She liked the look of my purple cardigan so she borrowed it.

We walked down the steps onto the landing where you could hear the shrieks and the bellows of my Mum and Dad – I knew it was too good to be true.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Mummy

{Ivy}

I've called lots of women 'Mum'. I don't even remember what the first one looked like. Patricia Williams. That's the name which was on my file. It's a huge brown cardboard box with loads of letters and reports in it. It's got my name on it but I wasn't allowed to even one quick peep inside - not until I went to live with Marion. She insisted. She said she didn't care what the rules were; it was my basic moral right to learn about my past. Marion's great at getting her own way, even with senior workers. She doesn't shout. She doesn't even argue. She just states things quietly but firmly. So they gave in and presented me with my brimming box file. _This Is Your Life_ (of course it didn't say that – but I could imagine it though).  
There were just the three of us. They adopted me. Janet and Daniel Johnson. They gave me my name, Johnson. They wanted to give me a new first name too. Danielle, after my new dad. But I wouldn't answer, wouldn't even look up, no matter how many times they said it. They told me this as I got older, laughing, but you could tell it still bugged them a bit.  
"You were really only a baby too - and a good little girl in most other respects," said Mummy.  
"You just didn't want to be a daddy's girl," said Daddy, pulling one of my plaits a little too hard.  
Too right I didn't. Not his girl. Or hers either, come to that.  
Is that really true? Maybe I loved them then. I still miss her sometimes.  
I knew lots of it already, of course. I have made. Well I do know. I'm just not very clear how to get there. I don't fancy getting a taxi. I walk towards the twin centre and see the sign to the railway station. I got a Travel card to London and then curl up in a corner of a carriage staring out the window at all the back gardens thinking about Mummy.  
She adopted me. I can remember the first time she picked me up. Lavender. Soft lavender talc and a spanking new lavender blouse. Slippery to touch.  
I'm imagining it. I can't really remember being one year old. It's just that they had told me so many. Though I can close my eyes and smell her talc and felt her silky blouse. I see a pale blur whenever I think of her.  
I gave her a cake of Yardley's lavender soap and a tin of lavender talcum every birthday and Christmas. She always cried and said, "Oh Ivy darling, what a lovely surprise!" though they were the most predictable presents ever and she'd been watching out of the corner of her eye while he nudged me to the right corner of Boots to help me purchase them.  
I called him Daddy, I called her Mummy. They called me Danielle for the first few months, tried a few variations - Dannie, Ella - but by the time I was eighteen months and anyone asked my name I'd say Ivy.  
Could I really? I think that's what they said. One of mummy's stories. Maybe she made half of it up. I've made up heaps myself and now I can't remember what is real. They don't seem real. Neither do I. Maybe that's why I hung on to the name Ivy. It made me feel myself.  
So my name stayed Ivy and Mummy and Daddy had to like it or lump it. There were lots of lumps in our relationship.  
Mummy wasn't very good at holding me. I was always small and slight but I was a very squirmy little girl and I suppose she was terrified of dropping me. She strapped me in a chair to feed me. She anchored me in a corner of the bath with a giant inflatable sea horse. She buckled me into a buggy on outings. She caged me in my cot at nights. She never hugged me tight or whirled me round or lumped me about on her hip. She'd sit me on her lap occasionally when I cried but she was as tense as a spring underneath her soft slippery skirt and I soon slid off of my own accord.  
Daddy was into cuddles in a big way but I wasn't keen on then from him. He liked playing bears with me, down on all fours and growling fit to burst. He was like a bear in real life. He could be fun, he could be friendly, but he could suddenly lose his temper and roar. I felt he could kill me with one swat. He even looked like a bear, with thick brown fuzzy curls and a big beard and hair all over his body, even on his back and shoulders. He legs were dark with it, leaving his feet as pale as plaice, though the hair sprouted again on top of his toes. He seemed proud of his hairiness, flaunting himself in brief trunks whenever we went to the beach.  
Mummy wore a swimming costume then, but with a sarong around her waist and a card knotted over her shoulders. I was very pale so she oiled me with sunscreen until O was as greasy as a bag of chips, and made me pull on long sleeved t-shirts and a sunhat so big it rested on my nose.  
I wasn't allowed ice-cream because Mummy didn't want me to eat frozen germs. Hot dogs and hamburgers were forbidden when we went to fun fairs because Mummy was very wary of warmed up germs too.  
She held me out at arms length over public lavatories so lurking germs had no chance of leaping up my bottom.  
Daddy did thugs differently. He bought me Knickerbocker glories with whipped cream and crimson cherries. He took me on every rode in the funfair, even the big wheel, though my stomach turned over and then inside out and I was sick all the way down to the ground and some poor soul got horribly splattered. Daddy always roared with laughter when he told this tale. He called it his sick joke. Mummy always shuddered. She had a weak stomach and when I was sick or worse at she would choke as she heaved as she cleared it up, putting on a brand new pair of pink marigold gloves each time and throwing them away in fastened pink bags afterwards.  
I wondered of she felt she'd made a mistake adopting me. Maybe she secretly fancied fastening me into a big plastic bag and dumping me back in the dustbin where I belonged. Maybe I was wrong. She didn't hug me tight but every night she'd kissed the space above my cheek she'd whisper into the darkness, "I love you very much, Ivy. You've changes our whole lives. You've made us so happy."  
Mummy and Daddy didn't seem happy. Mummy often sighed to her-self, her face pained, her shoulders drooping. Sometimes she sighed so loudly she put her hand over her mouth apologetically, as if she was suffering from indigestion.  
Daddy suffered from real indigestion, forever burping and farting. Mummy ignored these eruptions and expected me to do the same. Daddy was often sick too. I thought he might be ill but as I got older I realized this only happened when he came home late. Daddy didn't drink much at home but he sank pink after pint at the pub. That was why he smelt so strange.  
Mummy didn't nag him about it but she couldn't stop her sighs. Daddy started stopping out half the night.  
I couldn't understand why Mummy minded so. I liked it with Daddy out the way. I wanted Mummy all to myself. I wanted her to help me dress my Barbie dolls, to draw little girls and kittens and butterflies with my crayons, to thread red and green glass beads so I could wear ruby necklaces and emerald bracelets. Sometimes she did her best and out Barbie in her party dress and crayoned a cat family and decked me in jewellery. Other times she'd just sit sighing, and when she heard the door at last she'd jump so suddenly that Barbie would land on her head and crayons and beads rolled all over the carpet.  
One morning Daddy wasn't back at breakfast and Mummy didn't eat but drank cups of tea all day, her spoon going clink, clink, and clink as she stirred. Daddy came home from work at his normal time, but he had a big bunch of red roses. He pressed them into Mummy's arms. She held them loosely not responding. He plucked a single rose from the bunch, stuck the stem sideways into his mouth, clasped Mummy in his arms and started a wild tango, stepping up and down the hall and bending Mummy backwards. At the beginning, she protested but then started giggling helplessly. Daddy grinning too and the rose fell from his mouth and got trampled into the carpet. Mummy didn't rush for the vacuum. She stayed in Daddy's arms, smiling.  
I glared at her.  
"Ooh, look at Ivy!" said Danny. "Somebody's gone green eyed all of a sudden." I was a naturally green eyed without being jealous!  
He tried to get me to dance with him but I sat in the corner of the hall and sucked my thumb. I wasn't the least bit jealous. I didn't want to dance with Daddy. I was furious that Mummy could be so easily won over.  
I suppose she adored him. That was why she put up with so much. She must have held her Tongue when they were being grilled about adopting me. They had to present themselves as the perfect couple. Maybe Daddy was perfect in Mummy's eyes. Though he couldn't give her children. That was why she was so keen to adopt me. Sue felt it was her best chance of hanging onto him. Give him his own little girl. Little Danielle. Only I wouldn't play the game properly so it didn't work.  
Daddy stayed out again. And again and again. He came back with one more bunch of flowers. Then he came hack drunk. Then he came back in a towering rage, shouting at Mummy, yelling at me, as if it was our entire fault.  
Then he didn't come back. Mummy waited all day. Another night. Then she ran the office. I don't know what he said to her.  
I found her sitting on the carpet by the telephone table in the hall, her legs stuck out, as ungainly as my Barbie doll. Tears ran down her cheeks. She didn't try to mop them. She didn't even blow her nose though it was running down to her lips. I hovered beside her, terrified.  
"Mummy?" I leant against her, wanting her to put her arms round me. She didn't move so eventually I wound my arms and legs around her neck instead. She didn't seem to notice.  
"Mummy, please talk to me!"  
She didn't respond, even when I shouted right in her ear. I wondered if she might be dead but she blinked every now and then, her lashes stuck together with tears.  
"It's all right, Mummy, I'm here," I said, but of course it wasn't alright.  
She didn't care whether I was there or jot. No, that's not true. She did care. She tried to look after me over the next few weeks. She didn't bother to wash herself and she pulled the same old jogging trousers and jerkin over her nightie when she trailed me to the Infants and back but she still supervised my bath every night and stuffed my arms down fresh blouse sleeves every day. She wasn't totally systematic. She remembered my school uniform but forgot my growing pile of grubby socks and underwear so that one day I had to go to school in Mummy's own large white nylon knickers, pulled up at the waist with a safety pin. It took me ages to get the pin undone in the dark toilets and I wet myself a little but nobody found out. I tried washing the damp knickers at home with soap in all my own underwear and hung them all along the bath and over every tap. But I didn't rinse them properly so they were stiff and uncomfortable and made me itch.  
Mummy couldn't manage meals now. She didn't seem to eat at all; she just drank endless cups of tea, taking it black after we ran out of milk. I ate my cornflakes straight of the packet. I ate a lot of school lunch because we were just using up all the tins of baled beans in the cupboard for tea. I had baked beans on toast, and then when we had used all the bread in the freezer I simply had baked beans. When Mummy just sat and stared into space I ate the baked beans cold.  
One teatime, I couldn't get her to open the tin of Heinz baked beans. I tried and tried with the tin opener but I couldn't work out how to do it and ended up cutting myself. It was only a tiny cut at the end of my thumb but it frightened me and I howled. Mummy burst into tears too and sobbed that she was sorry. She said she was a useless mother and an awful wife and it was no wonder he'd walked out on us. He was much better off without her and I'd be much better off without her too.  
She said it over and over again, louder and louder, her pale face almost purple with emotion. I was so scared that I nodded, imagining she wanted me to agree with her. 


End file.
